Rhiannon
by Ancestor
Summary: This is just a little story about a character that ran into my head and stayed there. You don't really have to read it, I just wanted to post something that wasn't crap on my account. Legacy and all that. OC/James Potter-son
1. Chapter 1

In Which Rhian Gets a Pretty Sword

"Uncle Boris, I already have my wand." I piped up. My uncle Boris, a tall, dark would-be-handsome-if-he-didn't-glare-all-the-time man and I were strolling down Diagon Alley, Uncle Boris saying that he had a surprise for me. A surprise? From him? Probably nothing good, and most likely dangerous. But as we neared the old wand shop, my fears were pretty much gone. I was secretly hoping we'd slip into Knockturn Alley and buy some sort of deformed creature that had mysterious powers. But Uncle had sauntered right past it, not even turning his head in that direction for a mere glance. Disappointing.

But why the wand shop? I had gotten my wand quite a few years ago. It was an 11" white oak with a single baby Hungarian dragon's tooth. I haven't met the dragon himself, but I heard that he was still living in the deep mountains of magical Turkey, all grown up of course.

"You know, I got it before I was shipped off to Hogwarts." I say 'shipped off' when I really mean 'kicking and screaming'. I was quite a spoiled child then, 11 years old having had whatever I wished given to me. I lived in a giant mansion surrounded by acres and acres of land that I believed one day would be mine (false thinking, it would really go to my brother, Adrian.). I lived like a princess waiting for her prince to come sweep her off her feet, in the mean time making everyone miserable until she had gotten her wishes fulfilled. Durmstrang was obviously the better choice, so why had they not accepted me? I so wished to go to the prestigious school that there was no living with me. My father, however, put his foot down and my mother wouldn't budge. So I broke a window. And a chair. The dishes, the grandfather clock, my bedposts… oh! and the butler.

They made me stay with two aunts in the Netherlands until it was time for the train. I had to shop for my stuff with the two bats and it was NOT a pleasant experience. I was absolutely determined to make a nuisance of myself that first year. My parents were absolutely fed up with me and gave me two choices. One, go live with my aunts during the breaks and summers, only coming home when I've behaved myself, or two, live with my Uncle Boris (whom I had never met before) under the same conditions. They didn't want me anymore. I realized this so suddenly that I cried, and cried some more when I found that no one wanted to comfort me, I had been such a bitch that I didn't have any friends. I made my decision (I did NOT want to be with the two bats), and my uncle came and picked me up from the train that Christmas. I recognized him from an old photo that my father had sent me by owl. No letter, I guessed that they were glad to get me out of their hair. He was SCARY. He had worn a dark trench coat, muggle sunglasses that glinted, and his aura fairly crackled with dark energy. I had thought myself doomed. He was going to slit my throat like it was butter, bury me in his backyard, and the best part: no one would know or care! I almost peed myself.

However, Uncle Boris took me to the Leaky Cauldron, bought me dinner and a slice of apple pie. I had always loved their apple pie. I warmed up to him quickly, found out that he has his own deadpanned sense of humor, and that his little flat on the edge of the beach was the cutest thing ever, not to mention the paradise in his backyard. Complete with a lake, mountain/forest and a giant oak that stirred the adventurer in me. His vacation villa was where we would be staying for Christmas. I really liked him, so I agreed to go for a jog the next morning, even though I never really liked to exercise. The next morning turned out to be four o'clock in the morning, and the jog being a four-hour sprint. After 5 minutes, I decided that I wasn't going to keep up and tried to turn around. Uncle Boris, however, had different plans. He pulled a large stick out of nowhere and started HITTING me with it, forcing me to keep running along the right path. When we finally stopped, he slapped me on the back and said, "Now see, that wasn't so bad." WASN'T SO BAD? I was scared of him again. He kept up the 'morning jogs' right until Christmas. I got a break to Floo back home for our annual Christmas ball, but by then, I was so sore that I couldn't dance or even move more that putting one foot in front of another for that matter. I begged and begged my parents to let me come home, but they would have none of it. I was back at Uncle's before I had a chance to say 'please' again. They had my presents flown over, all wrapped nicely and neatly placed on my bed. I was furious.

Lets just say that I experienced one of my old temper tantrums. Uncle Boris screamed at me to 'get angrier' and then proceeded to equip me with a long staff that was capped off with bronze at both ends. It had no markings on it, while his (oh yes, his) was covered in strange symbols. I got angrier and attempted to hit my anger out on Uncle Boris. The bastard kept evading me and getting in his own hits, rapping me over the head with his weird staff. It was quite a painful ordeal, and left me sprawled on the floor, heaving and crying. Uncle Boris carried me to my bed and let me sleep until noon. I decided then, lying in bed that I wanted to learn. Learn how to fight like him, to be in control like he was, get stronger so that no one would be able to hurt me again and I'll be damned if he doesn't teach me everything he knows. I had absolutely no idea what I was getting myself into of course, but it's too late now. I asked him over lunch and to my surprise, he agreed. He'd teach me on a few conditions (conditions seemed to haunt me, but his were practical, so it was okay.). One, I couldn't complain that it was too hard or too tough, two, I couldn't talk about my training to anyone, and three, I would never argue with a direct order and do it immediately.

That was four years ago, and here I was, following my Uncle into a stupid wand shop. He trained me hard, and I was now a tall, slightly muscular young woman. I've mastered four different types of martial arts, boxing, and staff wielding. I was hoping that he would teach me to use a sword; he had this wicked looking blade that I had seen slice through steel. Uncle had told me 'later'. It was later, and he still wouldn't mention the topic.

The bell chimed our arrival as he pushed it open and again when he let it fall, shutting the snowy wind out. I exhaled, not knowing when or why I started holding my breath. The shuffling old man came out from his dusty shelves to greet us. A knowing smile crept across his face as his saw us.

"Came for it, didn't you?" Uncle B nodded. What was 'it'? I hated being left out of the loop and the suspense was killing me! It was like reading a muggle mystery novel (when I was lucky enough to get my hands on one). Uncle Boris took me into a little muggle town and into a bookshop, needing to pick up an item for some secret mission that he was on. I browsed the shelves and a lot of the books caught my eye. It started to be a fascination and I am utterly hooked now.

The old man led us into the back of the shop, and then to the back of the back of the shop, and then down a flight of dusty, creepy stairs that creaked under our weight and felt as if they were going to crumble at any moment. He swished his wand and a ball of light floated to the top and middle of an enormous chamber. It looked like one of those old medieval armories, with the dark gray stone and countless upon countless rows of weapons. Spears, swords, armor, helmets, cutlasses, etcetera, etcetera. The two men grinned (as much as Uncle B can grin) at the look of awe on my face. I approached one of the shelves of swords and touched one. The shock wave the sword released sent me straight to the ground. And then they laughed.

"The weapons are like wands, my dear. The right one will choose you." I nodded and pulled myself to my feet. The old man hummed as he walked down the isle of weaponry. He plucked a long staff tipped with 12 inches of pure steel and a little tassel off the rack and handed it to me gently, hand holds first. The thing hummed violently, racking my bones. I handed the thing back to him quickly, and shook my head.

"Why don't I just look for it? I don't think the touching thing is working. Besides, won't it jump out at me?" Uncle B nodded, and the old man voiced his approval.

I skimmed the isles, looking at all the strange weapons. A mace? Nah, that wouldn't fit me. Whips weren't my specialty either. I eyed the tassel thing. It seemed to glare at me. Not that one either. I walked quickly away from it, stopping in front of a small rack of swords tucked into a corner. Four of them shined like the sun, the rubies and emeralds and diamond gleaming from their hilts. The fifth one was a dull, steel sword with a plain hilt, none of the glory its brothers had. It intrigued me. I grasped the hilt and pulled it from its fastenings. I grimaced, waiting for some doom to come upon me. Nothing happened. I opened one eye and then the other, looking down on the ugly sword. It wasn't so ugly anymore. In fact, it fairly shined. The weight was perfect in my hand, the length just right. I gave a few good swings, just to make sure. The blade swung through the air, swishing noises followed, and I almost danced. It was perfect! And it liked me!

I glanced back at Uncle B and he nodded, not surprised. He handed over a bag of coins to the shopkeeper.

"Grab the sheath too." Uncle Boris nodded to the rack again and I saw it's matching sheath. At first glance, it was plain but as I looked closer, it had strange symbols etched into the leather. I sheathed it, and noticed similar etchings in the hilt. Odd.

I scurried out into the cold with my uncle, heading towards the Leaky Cauldron. My mouth started watering; I could taste that apple pie now. Before we got there though, my uncle swung down into Knockturn Alley. YES! Here I come, deformed creature with magical powers! He turned and stopped me, dropping a few coins into my hand.

"Go ahead to the Leaky Cauldron. I want the usual. This will only take a few minutes."

"Then I'll go with you." I insisted.

"Can't. Official Ministry business." I scowled and turned on my heel, half wanting to get out of the cold, half wanting that damn apple pie. I was really curious. Uncle Boris worked in the Containment of Dangerous Beings department of the Ministry after retiring from his Auror position. Basically, if there was some type of magical creature making a nuisance of itself in either the muggle of magical world, Uncle Boris and whoever else was on his team was sent to go and 'contain' it. More often than not by killing it. It required the skills of a hunter, Auror, and a wizard. They called themselves the Breakers, though the purpose eludes me. Couldn't they have easily called themselves the People-Who-Kick-Ass? Or the Guys-Who-Make-Sure-Your-Asses-Are-Safe? But no, it has to be the Breakers. Boring.

He would tell me or not tell me, that's just the way he was. No matter how hard I pressed it. But as far as I know, the Ministry didn't have secret meetings in Knockturn Alley. I pushed open the wall leading to the pub and grabbed two seats at the bar, ordering two slices of hot apple pie and setting my new sword in the scabbard in between my knees, the bottom touching the floor. I supposed I would need a belt to attach it to my waist, but I'm sure it would come later. The smell wafted over to my nose and I didn't think twice about waiting for my uncle. Delicious, oh so delicious! My parents had hardly ever brought me here, and usually refused to give me sweets in the first place. It ruins your figure, as my mother so aptly tells me. But now that I am free from her prying eyes and most of her steel-clawed grip, I was damn sure I was going to get my apple pie. Plus, Uncle Boris will have me run it off later. He was like that.

As I was savoring the rather large piece of heaven, the door from the Muggle Street opened, giving way to a gust of cold wind and a large group of people, most with red hair. The Weasley clan. Don't get me wrong; I have nothing against the people personally, but they do have a relatively hefty brood, and it makes it hard to distinguish them all. I stopped bothering to try and just called them all Weasley. Or Potter, as I've been reminded. The Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived married the youngest blood-traitor Weasley and had millions of children, my father always use to say. Or spat, really. He hated all of them, himself being one of Voldemort's followers. Not a very good one though, he never did get the Dark Mark, nor had he even been invited to a meeting. Lame, I had always thought. If you're going to be evil, be evil. Don't half-ass it and certainly don't be a mere follower. Be the leader, or at least the wizard that the leader came to for advice about ruling the world. But he never listened to me.

There were only three Potter-Weasleys anyway. Lily, Albus-Severus, and James. James. He was… handsome, to put it lightly. Okay, he was down right hot. That boy looked like Adonis in the flesh. Times TWO. He had a wonderfully in shape body, he played Quiddich like, none stop, his hair was a lovely shade of reddish brown that was quite messy, and certainly dashing. His eyes were awesome too. When the light hit them just right, they looked gold, like a lion's. And it fit, because he was obviously a Gryffindor, along with the majority of the rest of his family. He was one year older than me, which means he's a 6th year. I've never actually talked to him, and I don't plan to. He might be really sexy, and smart, but I've never seen him fight. And if he can't fight, then he was a big no for me. Two years ago when lying in my bed, listening to my roommates giggle over a magazine, I heard them ask each other about their perfect guy. Each gave a list of things they wanted in a guy. Rich, handsome, etcetera. I made my own and fighting was at the top. Actually, fighting was the only thing on the list. The others are bonuses.

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I barely caught my uncle sliding into the seat next to me and digging in on his pie.

"Potters?" His voice startled me; usually we like to eat our pies in silence, only speaking every so often. I didn't expect him to jump right in on a conversation. When I looked down to my plate, I found it empty, and almost fell off my chair in shock. Was I so enthralled by Adonis in the flesh and my mysterious dream guy that I missed enjoying my favorite pie? Why was love clouding my thoughts? I shook my head and turned to him, pouting.

"No more pie." He grinned. He was doing that more often now, I wonder if he's gotten a girlfriend.

"That's what happens when you eat it all." He moved his attention elsewhere. To Harry Potter. THE Harry Potter.

"Potter!" My uncle raised a hand so the dark haired man could see him. He smiled and waved, crossing over to where they were and taking a seat beside Uncle Boris.

"Hello there, long time, no see. Have you been well?" Translation: I missed the meeting; can you bring me up to date?

"Yes, actually. Nothing serious has come up, so I've been catching up on my sleep." Translation: Hell no, there is some sort of evil lurking about, giving us loads of trouble. I don't think I'll be getting sleep for a while yet.

"That's good." Translation: Anything the Aurors can help with?

"How is the team holding up?" Translation: We'll see. I'll give you a Floo if we need your assistance.

"Doing just fine." Translation: Good, I'll wait for it.

Harry Potter's oldest son decided to approach just then. His oldest son, James. The hot one. He looked at me funny, like I had something on my face. I glanced over to the napkin holder were I could see my reflection. Nothing. Good thing my face didn't betray the panic I was feeling. I was never really good with people in the first place. After I had gotten over my 'make everyone miserable' stage, people had just come to avoid me, and the only two people who would talk to me were a snobbish princess and a bulky, scary looking guy who had the heart of a teddy bear and the mouth of a mute.

"Dad? Al and I are going to pop over to Quiddich and Things, heard they got a new model out." Quiddich. In its essence, it was a violent sport. I liked it. I've never actually played it except when we were learning about it first year, flying lessons. I threw a quaffle into some Hufflepuff's face and broke her nose. That was about the time my parents had made the deal with me. They didn't allow me to play after that, and I was quite put out.

"Okay, I'll go with you. I love a good broom." His father said, rising. "Boris, it was good talking with you again, we'll have to have you over for dinner one night. Bring your daughter with you too. The more the merrier." He smiled. How kind.

"Niece." I said acidly. Like I said, I'm not very good with people. Especially people I tend to avoid due to my Father's insistent hate for them. "I'm not his daughter. I'm his niece." I smiled right back at him, snarky. What was wrong with me today? Uncle gave me a glare. I read his mind: five laps around the lake! But the great Harry Potter took it in stride and kept on smiling.

"My mistake. See you, Boris." He clapped Uncle on the shoulder and took off with his son and meeting up with the rest of his family and going out into Diagon Alley.

"It would be wise of you to respect your elders." Uncle Boris said icily. "And not act by the foundations from which you were bred." I felt ashamed, my face burned. He was right, of course. My parents told me to hate the Potters, and I did with out knowing it. I've changed! I'm not the spoiled little brat Fakar that everyone knew in 1st year. I am the fighter, the cool, composed girl in the room that could snap your neck in a second, but that wouldn't because it went against her moral code. I'm her. I bent my head.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't do it again." Uncle Boris finished off his pie and stood, fully expecting me to follow his lead. I did, grabbing my new sword and jumping off the stool, dreading the laps I would have to do in the cold.

Uncle B's place was a bit weird. The house faced the ocean, and there was a good chunk of sandy beach to lie out on. In the back, however, there was a large lake, and a forest. It seemed contradictory, but with magic, you apparently can do anything.

It wasn't so bad, really. I put some warming charms on my workout clothes before I left school, incase he had me do this sort of thing, just to torture me. Along with a couple of sticking charms, I was okay to run in the deep snow. With 50 mile per hour winds. And frigid air. Did I mention it was five laps around a really large lake?

The few days before the annual Christmas Ball flew by, with us beginning training in sword fighting (not our actual swords, but ones that had been fashioned after them with wood), a new form of martial arts, and something completely foreign to me: meditation.

"It helps you focus. Your magic will be more powerful, and your art more precise. Clear your mind, relax." We were sitting on the edge of a cliff. How the hell was I suppose to relax? One tremor and I could slip off and fall to my doom, and Uncle B was just sitting there Indian style, hands resting on his knees palms up, his eyes closed. How could he be so calm? I ventured a look over the edge, scooting back another inch when I saw the steep drop. We had hiked a good hour and a half up the hill (I would have called it a mountain) and through some heavy woods before finally coming to a stop at the grassy area. I had assumed it was decent until Uncle Boris said, "Watch your step, you might die." Then, I was a bit nervous.

"Seeing as we are sitting, you shouldn't have a fear of falling to your doom." How does he know! The man could read minds. Damn him.

"I can't read minds. I've just done this thing before with my master." See what I mean? But that got me interested. He had never mentioned his master before, and I was always curious to know how he learned all this stuff.

"Your master? Tell me about him."

"Later, if you meditate well today. Now shut up and clear your mind." It was just like Uncle Boris, blunt and harsh. But it worked. I mimicked his position and closed my eyes. Clear your mind…

Things kept popping up. The training earlier, how many mistakes I had made, the breakfast that morning, reminding myself not to let Uncle cook ever again, the funny sounds of some forest creature scuttling around behind me.

"Focus." Dang it! "Breath in slowly, focus on your breathing, the wind in your ears, and the smell of the grass. Think of everything, and nothing. Think of the present, where you are, how you feel. Feel your heartbeat, listen to it thud in your ears. Clear your mind."

Damn good speech. His words rang true to my ears; I did everything he said, the wind, the present, the heartbeat. I wonder if he wrote that out before.

What seemed like two seconds later, Uncle B tapped me out of my trance. I was startled. When I had closed my eyes, the sun had been high overhead, now it was sinking slowly on the horizon.

"Whoa. Time flies when your mind is blank." Uncle B just nodded and headed back down the hill. We got home just as the sun disappeared. The beach turned cold and I stood there, after he had gone inside, digging my toes in the chilly sand. Meditation was weird. During those seemingly two seconds, there had been many things going on, now that I think back on it. There were the sounds of the forest, my heartbeat thudding in my ears, and then… a voice? Back in the back of my mind, there was a voice, calling my name. But not my name. It was my name, but it wasn't my name. If that made any sense at all. It hadn't said "Rhiannon" or "Rhian" or any of my other nicknames. I couldn't remember the name she had called me (if it was a she), but I knew she was calling me. It was weird.

Uncle B came out and called me inside. I shook out of my reverie and headed into the warm house, my stomach beginning to growl. He never ended up telling me about his master. Disappointing.


	2. Chapter 2

In Which Rhian Goes to a Boring Party

The Christmas ball was today. I had woken up this morning with a dress hung on a hook across from my bed. My room at Uncle B's use to be small, but I snuck around it and gave a few engorgement charms on my closet, so I could fit what I wanted to in there. The main room was next to tiny, so I only had my bed and nightstand in there. I decked out my room in Slytherin colors so I was reminded that I had homework, and kept a magical alarm clock and a couple of new muggle novels on my bedside table. Everything else was in my closet. The dress glared at me until I ripped it off the hook and threw it into my closet, not even caring where it landed. I did NOT want to go this year. I had more important things to do. Like train. I dressed warmly and tiptoed down stairs, just incase Uncle B was still sleeping, even though he never was. As I thought, he was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper. The pictures waved and moved, and I caught a few of the titles, none of them interesting.

"'Morning. Any news?" I asked hopefully. Maybe something exciting would come up and he'd need my help. Too bad I wouldn't be able to go the ball… My hopes were dashed again.

"No. Your father expects you to be ready to travel by Floo at 5 o'clock. But until then, sword training." I was stoked. Now that the sword chose me, he had to teach me! At least I had gotten something I wanted. Speaking of the sword, I hadn't touched it since we went to Diagon Alley. Uncle B told me to put it somewhere safe until I was good enough to use a real blade. I had put it under a loose floorboard under my bed with locking charms. Voice activated and all.

Sword training was grueling. We practiced in his personal training area. It was about the size of a normal gym with racks of all kinds weapons on the far walls and practice dummies on the nearest when you walked in the room. He had a punching bag in the far corner, and had a large square blocked off in the middle to act as a mini battleground, or boxing ring. It was pretty sweet. First and foremost during practice, he taught me a move, which was well enough. Then, he had me to the same move 100 times on a dummy. Correctly. He watched me like a hawk, having me do it again if I messed up. Then he had me do the move another 100 times in sparring. I hated the sparring part. Not only did my arms burn with the effort of keeping the sword up, but also he moved around and hit me if I let my guard down even a little bit. And we weren't even using regular swords, but wooden ones that were weighted. My sword was definitely not this heavy. By the end of our session, I was sweating, tired, bruised and wanting to crawl in a corner and cry. But instead, I had to take a shower, put on some makeup and get dressed for that stupid Ball. I wanted to take a nap.

5 o'clock rolled around, and to my surprise I learned that my uncle would be coming with me, and that he looked slightly ridiculous in a tuxedo. He had his long dark hair slicked back, shirt tucked in and everything. One would say he was even dashing, if you didn't know him.

"Uncle B, I think every woman in that entire ballroom will fawn all over you." He grunted and turned away, not even commenting on how pretty I looked. Not that I was, really. It was just polite. I always thought I was a pretty girl, back when I was young. Everyone told me so. But then I realized that I wasn't really all that pretty, everyone just said it to be nice and because my Father is rich. If I really looked at myself (which I try not to do) I was quite plain. The only striking things about me were my eyes, which were a deep sea blue with a touch of green. I had a small straight nose and pale complexion, contrasting horribly with dark hair. But looks weren't important anymore.

The dress that was sent to me was plain as well, compared to my past outfits. It was blue, which matched my eyes, with sparkles, which pretty much ruined it. I was still technically a kid at this party, even though I'm already 15. But I won't dwell on that. I'm pretty sure I have to graduate to be considered an adult. Or get married, whichever. It was tea length, which meant it came to about my shins, fluffing out at my hips. It itched.

Uncle B threw a handful of Floo powder into the fire and stated in a clear voice our destination. He disappeared into the green flames and I stood there alone, half wanting to run away half not wanting to get in trouble. I pinched the powder, tossed it into the dying flames and stepped inside.

"Fakar Manor!" the green flames flared around me and spat me out the other side. I caught myself before I fell, thank goodness. The party hadn't started yet, but my mother would quite disapprove if I fell out on my ass. I looked up and around our massive ballroom that I had fallen in. It was the same as I remember: tall columns of white marble all the way around, the same marble shined and buffed under my feet. I had had many good times in here, and many more bad times. The butler helped me catch my balance and welcomed me back home. The second time I came back home after I started training, I had apologized for my violent actions against him. He liked me now. I finally learned his name, which was Alfred (Al for short). It was kind of ironic, now that I had read so many muggle mystery novels, that his name was Alfred. But I seriously doubt he would try to kill my Father, the master of this house. He would probably get incinerated.

He helped me dust the ashes off and lead me to my Father (who was talking to Uncle B) and Mother, then left me to inspection. My mother looked me over with a critical eye, frowning at any imperfections I had. I curtsied a little to them, and my Father turned away, of course, not even breaking his conversation. He didn't like me much. He would have been perfectly fine had I not been born.

"You'll do, for now." Great. I passed. I was half hoping she would send me up to my old room to get fixed, and then I'd accidentally lose my way until the party ended. At that moment, my bother, Adrian stepped out of the fire and came to greet us. Al, trying to dust off the soot from the fireplace, followed him. I use to like my brother. Then I realized he was cruel and unkind, treating the servants and pretty much everyone else that was no use to him with scorn and ugliness. That included me.

"Father, Mother." He shook Father's hand and gave Mother a kiss on the cheek, not even noticing my presence, a merely nodding to Uncle B.

"Father if I may speak with you…" He trailed off and they went away quickly, leaving Mother, Uncle B, and myself alone, watching them walk away. If Mother hadn't been there, I would have started cussing after them. They returned a few minutes later, just as the first of the guests arrived. By then, I was at the snack bar. We hadn't really had time to eat dinner, and the training always makes me hungry. I tried to look composed and aloof while I was stuffing my face. I'm not sure if it worked.

By six thirty, everyone had arrived, their kids included. All of them were ushered into the side room, which served as the 'kids party room' and the door shut. At least they had a snack bar. The ages of the children ranged from 7 to 17, all of them rich and spoiled and none of them genuinely nice. My snobbish princess friend was there, along with my best friend, the mute. Petunia Parkinson and Malcolm Bulstrode were the only ones who would be seen with me. Petunia because she and I were long time playmates and Malcolm because he was also in a similar situation at school: no one liked him. He never really talked, but I could always tell what was on his mind. Whereas Petunia always talked and I never really knew if there was anything going on up there. We stood by the snack bar, this one a bit better than the one in the main ballroom. It had candy, which was awesome considering my Mother hated sweets, and sandwiches that magically transformed to your favorite kind when you picked it up. I had already had three corned beef and mayonnaise sandwiches and working on my fourth. I had an inkling that our kindly cook had gone sneaking around to give us what we wanted. If it were up to our parents, I'm sure; we'd all be snacking on carrots and broccoli.

There was some popular music blaring, and most of the kids were dancing. Malcolm and Petunia didn't like to dance much, and I abhorred it. I was a fighter, not a dancer. We stood around a while, munching, while Petunia talked until we got bored and she ran out of adjectives to describe her new wardrobe. The music got too loud, and I didn't like this band anyway. The Weird Sisters were much better. I motioned them to follow me, and we snuck out and out into the hall.

"Lets do something fun!" Petunia squealed.

"What do you suggest?" I asked. Petunia's idea of 'fun' was putting on makeup and doing each other's hair. I didn't think Mal would like that. In fact, he was starting to look a little afraid.

"Ummm…." She had no idea.

"Let's play Quiddich." Completely uncharacteristic, Mal spoke his opinion. Most likely out of fear. He usually did what ever we did, normally. I liked his idea. We all agreed and headed to the indoor pitch that dominated the second floor. It wasn't a full sized pitch, but it would do for three people. We grabbed brooms from the utility closet, the latest model, and swung up into the air.

Hours later, Mal and I collapsed exhaustedly on the floor. Petunia had quit quite some time ago, and resigned to cheering us on as we played one on one.

"Good game, good game." I gasped. He nodded. I let him win. Petunia started to chatter about something, and I could faintly hear a voice calling my name. Only it wasn't my name.

"Shush." Petunia trailed off. Our rapid breath quieted, and the voice became more persistent.

"what is it?" Petunia whispered.

"Do you not hear that?"

"No…" I looked to Mal. He shook his head.

"Someone is calling me." I stood up, and heard it again. "There!" They looked at me like I was crazy.

"Honey, there's no one calling you." I knitted my eyebrows, and glared at them.

"I know what I hear! And I'll prove it." I dashed out, running through the mansion. I never found the source of the voice. It was always out of my reach, right around the corner, or behind me. I could never hear it clearly either. It stopped, just as it had started.

Petunia and Mal gave up trying to follow me, and found their way back to the ballroom, where the party was dying down. When I got to them, there were only a handful of people milling about. Uncle B was nowhere in sight.

"I'm not crazy." Petunia nodded pitifully. Mal made no comment.

Once Uncle B came back from wherever he was, we Flooed back home. I should have been exhausted, I trained hard, went to a stressful party, and played Quiddich; but I was so hyped up from hearing that voice again, I lied in bed with my eyes wide open until I saw the sun rising.

I didn't hear the voice for the rest of the break, and it started to drive me crazy. I started to research ghost voices, spells that make you hear things, and even schizophrenia. Uncle B continued teaching me the basics of sword fighting, and taught me moves to practice when I returned to school.

We arrived early to the train station. The big red train was as usual, and there were numerous witches and wizards bustling back and forth across the platform. I could hear excited squeals and "OMG what did you get for Christmas?" all around. It was going to be a long ride.

Uncle B nodded his silent good bye, and handed my trunk off to me. I hadn't even opened my presents; I just threw them in my trunk for later. They were probably some useless trinkets anyway.

I boarded the train and picked an empty compartment. Hopefully I wouldn't be bothered for at least 5 more minutes. Since I hadn't slept well lately, I decided it was time for a nap. I had already changed into my school uniform, so I just draped my robe over me like a blanket, used my current research book as a pillow, and threw the hood over my face. I fell asleep as soon as I shut my eyes.

The train was moving when I woke up. There were some hushed whispers, and I was immediately on alert. There were two boys and one girl. One of them was berating the girl for something. Bullying? Yes, she was being bullied. By a Slytherin, named Davidson. I remember a girl in my house and a couple of years younger than I named Heather Davidson, and she was a huge bitch. There was no doubt this girl was probably being harassed by her.

It was none of my business, but I sat up anyway, the robe falling off my face. I pretended like I had just woken up, yawning and rubbing my eyes. Then I saw who it was, and they were all glaring at me.

"Sorry, I didn't know who you were. We'll move." James Potter said icily. Apparently the whole thing with his dad didn't fly with him. I opened my mouth, wanting to apologize, but I just stuttered, not able to get anything that actually sounded like an English word out. I gave up and took a breath, and was able to form semi-intelligent words.

"No, I'll leave. Three against one, right?" I stood up. The girl, who was a little redheaded thing, looked at me pitifully.

"No, don't go. We can all share a compartment." She piped up. James elbowed her. "James, she helped me pick up my books once. She's nice." I did? I couldn't remember a specific time, but I do remember helping several people over the course of the year with their books. None of their faces stood out. Though there was a faint memory of red hair.

James considered it, and nodded his consent. "I guess you can stay." Thank you, Your Highness.

I sat down again and we all stared at each other awkwardly. The other boy was slightly younger, with red hair also, though not as bright as his sister's. James was the only one with brown hair, and even then you could see a slight red tint to it. They were all definitely family.

"Okay…I'm just going to read. Please continue… whatever you were doing." I hefted my book onto my lap and flipped it open to where I had left off.

"What are you reading?" The redheaded girl asked, switching seats to read over my shoulder.

"Uhh… just some research on an extra credit assignment I'm doing for umm… Charms." I lied like a rug. What was I suppose to say? 'I'm hearing voices inside my head that call my name, but not my name, and I'm trying to figure out if I'm crazy or not.' Heck no.

"Oh that's cool." James looked at me suspiciously.

"I never heard of any extra credit assignments."

"It's for special people who are failing the class." I replied dryly. Not that I was in anyway failing Charms. You had to be a blind newt to fail that class. He still looked suspicious, but he accepted my explanation.

"My name is Lily, by the way. Lily Potter." The girl next to me piped up.

"Rhiannon Fakar. But you can call me Rhian, if you want." She nodded happily. She looked like a 1st year, but if my memory was correct, she was a 2nd year, which made her only 3 years younger than me. She was kind of cute, like a kitten.

"And I'm Al Potter." The other Potter announced. I nodded, committing the names to memory. I looked at James, who crossed his arms.

"No way you don't know me." There was no way I wouldn't know any of them.

"It's polite to introduce yourself." I could see that he was taken aback. I had practically told him he was rude.

"James Potter." I raised my eyebrow.

"I know who you are." I couldn't keep the grin off my face. The other two laughed and the look on James' face was priceless. I went from being totally unapproachable to the Potter's to being funny, and nice. This was a good change.

Lily started to prattle on about her classes, much like Petunia does, only more intelligently. I half listened to her, and half studied the siblings. Especially James, though him extra discreetly. He was very lithe, and muscular, like a fighter. But I knew that was only a Seeker's body, the position awarded to him his 2nd year. It was a big ordeal, James following in his father's footsteps. There was no way he knew how to fight, other than brawl like a boy.

Eventually Petunia and Mal found us, the former exclaiming hysterically that she had been looking for me EVERYWHERE. Petunia was slightly confused when she realized who I was sharing a compartment with, but when I introduced them, she seemed to relax a little. Our houses never got along in the first place, but my two lackeys were able to get along with the Potter's well. Mal never spoke anyway, and Petunia would talk to a plant.

The train screeched to a halt in Hogsmeade, and everyone filed out, pushing and shoving to get a carriage. The Thestrals stamped their hooves and shook their heads, impatient to get moving. Mal, Petunia and I chose a carriage, and I put my hand out for the Thestral to nuzzle. It did, and I whispered my thanks for a safe journey. We had lost the Potters in the crowd; it would have been bad for us to be seen together in public anyway.

The ride didn't take long, and soon we were sitting at the Slytherin table, with the Gryffindor table in the perfect line of vision. More specifically, the back of James Potter's head.

The headmistress gave her speech, and everyone dug in. The feast after the holidays was always the best, with all the delicious Christmas food and pudding. I spent most of my time on the pudding.

Getting settled into the dorm was quick, everything was where they had left it, and it took only a simple flick of the wrist to hang the clothes in the wardrobe. There were 5 girls in the room, including Petunia and I. The other three girls kept away from me, though they generally accepted Petunia due to the fact that she gave great makeovers. After they had all gone to bed, I pulled all the presents from my trunk and settled them on my bed and drew the curtains across, hiding me from view. My bed was the farthest from the others, in a corner where the window was. The Slytherin dorm was in the dungeons, however, all the dorm rooms were up in a very tall tower, so we were afforded an outside view. It had a wonderful little ledge to it as well, which became the perfect spot to sit and read a book.

I opened my presents and was rewarded with my prediction. Useless trinkets. However, there was one particular wrapped gift that I hadn't remembered packing. Unlike all the others that were decorated with shiny bows and metallic paper, this one was ties with a dirty string and enveloped with brown paper. It was thick, large, and square; obviously a book.

Slipping the wrapping off, the book was titled "The History of Dangerous Magical Creatures". The book gave the history of every dangerous magical creature known to wizard, and then some. It also listed dangerous objects, weapons, and general people to watch out for.

This should be an interesting read. Looking in the front cover, there was a note written from Uncle Boris.

_Rhian,_

_Happy Christmas_

– _Uncle B _

It was a wonderful, inspiring letter. I shut the book and slipped it under my pillow. I threw the rest of the trinkets into a drawer in my wardrobe and crawled into bed. Despite my nap earlier, I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

My dreams were filled with a certain brown-eyed Gryffindor.


End file.
